A Lamp in a City of Lights

It has been a great while since I last posted on this blog.  And as exciting as it would be to tell you that I have traveled in so many countries that I simply hadn’t a chance to update; I’d be simply telling you a lie.  And that’s now what I’m here for.  I did in fact make it home safe and sound, on the evening of the 22^nd, just before midnight.  My family greeted me at the airport with open arms and my border collie snuggled right up to me that night just like I had never left.  I was home again. 

Home again, so much so that I feel as if I had never left.  The smell of freshly baked banana bread, the laughter of my sisters trickling from down the hall way, the sudsy feel of my favorite cucumber melon bath and body works soap against my hands.  My sewing project stashed in my closet left still half finished, my jewelry in the exact place I had left it.  Home was home and Italy became so separate from me in the last 2 weeks that I barely remembered I had even been.  But that was the shock of coming home I’ve realized, because in these last few days, I feel like my life has been a messy reconstruction surgery, and I am an inexperienced and untrained surgeon with neither the tools nor the knowledge.

Luckily though, the reconstruction of this confusion is neither a life or death situation, and as I’ll explain later- I guess I could describe it more as a puzzle needing to be put back together.  At least in this case there is no math or science required, and no life is in my hands. 

But why should I keep this discussion so abstract, for it is simply anything but that.  These last few days a hoard of emotions have been pulsing through my veins unexpectedly as I’ve been trying to make sense of my life all over again. 

It seems that before I left the world seemed so small; everything was just within arms reach, on the other side of my window; a drive down the road.  But two months later I was traveling the world, and to say the view outside my window had simply been enlarged would be an understatement.  It expanded so much so that the lens of which I see the world can no longer even be considered a window.   From the endless view of the toffee colored rooftops of Italy racing into the horizon from the tip top of the famous Duomo to standing below the famous Eiffel Tower, I found myself seeing the world in an entirely new lens.  I had to find new ways to make people laugh, I had to teach students who didn't understand my native language, I took trains and boats and plains all on my own.  I conquered the world in four months, it seems.  And from it all, I feel not bigger... but so much smaller.  Like a star lost in a galaxy, a lamp in a city of lights; I’ve been humbled more than I ever thought to be possible.

Still in transition shock, I might say I'm trying to build myself up again.  I'm trying to make sense of this place I've called my home all over again; as I see it from an entirely new perspective.  Things home are so much the same yet so different and I have a hard time wrapping my head around it.  People are so different on the other side of the world, they speak different languages and eat different things.  One person has a narrow face, the other round, one person wears high top tennis shoes, the other fancy flats with bow ties and glitter.  One person begs on the side of the street, the other stands on a rooftop wearing a gold watch.  Yet today, as I walk down the street, everyone now looks the same.  The beggar is no less than the rich man as the rich man is no more than the beggar.  I respect humanity for the sake of humanity and see people in an entirely new way.  I don't judge like I used to; I cringe when I hear labels and chide comments thrown at people just because they are different.  Because I look then down at myself and think how much the same we are really are.  We are all human; Italian, American, English, French.  We are all people that deserve love, humility and respect. 

Though the first few weeks back were fine, as stated earlier, I’ve found my feelings and perspectives on things grow quite peculiar.  Lately I feel like I've been seeing the world through a thick layer of fog.  And it's difficult to remove it all.  I feel like I'm experiencing joy second-handedly; as if I'm not really there.  I'm trying to find my footsteps from where I left off; but I'm finding I'm taking an entirely new path, forming an entirely new direction.  Things are not what I always thought they were.  My philosophy teacher doesn't sound so stupid anymore when I think of the time he asked me whether or not I knew the chair in front of me really existed.  Because then, it did.  And now, sometimes I think it's just a figment of my imagination; like this whole life is beginning to be.  It's like a spiral sometimes.  Not even a staircase, but the handrail, because it just moves so fast.  You think you are going in one direction, you think you have things figured out; when bam, life takes a turn again and you have to figure your whole life out again; as if you were never a part of it. 

And going back to the puzzle; I feel like before I left I had one nicely put together in front of me.  My life, from my narrow understanding at the time, was pretty much put together; piece by piece.  But then suddenly, in the course of four months- the entire thing was broken. I got new pieces, pieces were taken away, pieces didn't fit.  Now I have somebody staring down at me telling me to put it together again.  And I can't even find all the pieces.  But in the midst of it all: I know they are there- somewhere.  In the midst of all those afternoon drives when I can barely see the world in front of me because all I see are tears and all I hear is an old country song that reminds me of someone that I only knew before fourth months.  And the times in the middle of the night where I empty my closet because I don't know what anything is in there anymore.  I just don't want it anymore.  When I walk my dogs, down the same old road.  Driving down Cherry Lane: memory lane.  Going to work.  Smelling flowers again; like they just blossomed into existence.  Trying to figure out if God really exists; like I never celebrated a Christmas in my life.  Who is he and what does he mean?

And then I get all those questions on those scholarship reports and updates, asking me to state how my professional and life goals have changed and altered from my study abroad experience.  They give me one paragraph and I literally scream inside trying to sort my entire understanding of my future within the confines of perhaps a mere 200 words. So then I begin to ask myself the simple questions.  Who is it that I want to be?  Then I chisel around the question a little more, feeling that a direction might give it more meaning: Who do I want to be for myself and not for other people?  Do I want to do things just to set myself apart and for the sake of doing them or do I want to do things because that is where my heart is, and I truly want to do them?

I’d like to say I’ve got the whole part of that puzzle put together, but it really is still in the process.  I think about it, and go back and forth; I build and take away.  Sometimes I put up an entire block, other times I hammer down a wall.   I want to say I want to travel the world but there is only so much you can do and see.  Sometimes I just want to dig my feet into the dirt and be and know what is all around me.  I want to get to know my backyard, the forest 1000 feet from my house, the children who don't get fed dinner a neighborhood away.  Because I know that they need a teacher too; not just the starving children across the world in the TV commercials.  Everybody needs somebody and no matter where I am I want to make a difference.  To be a teacher has been my dream ever since my starry eyed day dreams in English class when I first learned about Walden and Thoreau and how life doesn't have to be what everybody else tells you it is.  It taught me freedom and self-respect and that you can really reach your dreams in spite of what others tell you and what others tell you you should want.

I guess all I can say now is that yes, studying abroad in a foreign country definitely allowed me to grow, change and become.  And for better of for worse, this is an answer only I can decide.  Free will was a gift given to us, of that for some may still be in question.  But in the end, it is simply the way of things.  For better I strive, and I hope to grow in a way that I can positively affect others in my life, and ultimately the students I one-day hope to nurture and help grow into loving and compassionate human beings.

That small little lamp I am amongst that city of lights, I hope will some day glitter more brightly.  I am merely one amongst the others, but if it wasn’t for all of us together, we could never be a sparkling city.  There would be no Eiffel tower, no toffee colored rooftops, no language or culture or understanding and being whatsoever.  But let’s stray from the abstract.  Lets combine our windows and see the world from a wider perspective.

As much as I want to say traveling is the only way to grow as an individual and love more clearly, live more closely, and smile more brightly, we all find our own ways.  Reading books, telling stories, sharing pictures, I never could have realized how much we truly make a difference in one another’s lives. 

How difficult it is to sum up this four-month experience, but due to timely circumstances, it is now I must bid my final goodbyes.

Arrivederci, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu, Slán leat, Farwell, and,

thank-you for your readership as I strongly appreciate all the support and prayers as I ventured during my long journey.  

A City on the Water; Venezia, Veneto

My first view of the city

Just last Thursday, I found myself unexpectedly wandering one of the most magical cities I’d had yet visited.  Sitting on an island in the Adriatic, with a total of 170, canals, over 400 bridges, and 118 islands, Venezia, Veneto landed itself at the top of my favorites list for European cities.

My first crossing over the bridge from the bus stop into Venezia I was immediately seduced by the surroundings that looked they could have almost been taken from a fairy tale.  The crystal blue waters meandered up and around old apartment and hotel buildings, accentuating their already bold and coral tones.  Boats were cruising up and down the water, and little ports were scattered everywhere, perfectly snugged up against the cobblestone walkways.  Seagulls flew up and about, with the occasional one taking a rest and scanning its surroundings from the safety of an old wooden post jutting out of the water.  It was a gloomy day by conventional standards, but it seemed to almost enliven the city ever the more. 

View from Piazza San Marco

I had three days to wonder the lovely city, though most everybody you talk to will tell you that you can easily see the city in the comfort of only one day.  With the city being fairly small, the labyrinth of roads certainly becomes easy to follow when you realize they all lead to either one of the major destinations: Piazza San Marco, or The Rialto, Venice’s old commercial heart.  So definitely, with a small amount of area to cover, and little to do besides cruising around he town and taking in all the atmosphere and Venetian city life we could, three days definitely did us well, and left us plenty of time to wander and relax at the local cafes.

One of the dozens of shops displaying hundreds of masks.

Venice is most stereotypically known for both its masks and it gondolas, both which very much so earn their place amongst Venice’s best and set this small Italian city apart from the rest.  The masks originally came about to grant its wearers anonymity when they ventured the city to eat drink and be merry.  They then became popular in 16^th century theater, especially in the Venetian’ version of improve theater, “comedy of humors.”  Today, Venice remains famous for their masks as they reemerged in the celebration of The Venice Carnival, which is a celebration that lasts two weeks before Shrove Tuesday, or what American’s know better as “Fat Tuesday”.  Shrove Tuesday is a holiday within the Catholic Church when people are granted time to take advantage of a little excess before the coming of Lent.  This one last opportunity of over-indulgence before the 40-day period before Easter when Catholics are encouraged to fast and give up a few things that they love is extended into two weeks in Venetian time, when you can see people dressed up in elegant attire, wearing every kind of mask that you could possibly imagine.

A Gondolier rows through the quiet alleyway

Gondolas so too earn their name in Venice, as obviously this is their place of fruition, and thus, has very much become the icon of the city itself.  You can quickly learn why though, as just a five-minute stroll around the city, you can catch the sight of several gondoliers, gently rowing up and along the small canals, as the passengers eagerly take photos of their picturesque surroundings.  In the 16^th and 17^th centuries, gondolas were actually a main means of transportation, and it was estimated that around eight to ten thousand gondolas wandered the waterways of Venice.  Today there are only about 400 in use, mostly all dedicated to the transportation of tourists around the city.  Though I didn’t have the opportunity to ride one, as the fixed rates were far more than I can afford, I definitely took enjoyment in watching them wander the city waterways.  It was almost like I was peering in on a painting, watching the gondoliers with their small straw hats with a ribbon dangling delicately from the side, guiding their boat along with their muscular outstretched arms.  For several moments I had almost felt transported into the dusk of the past, when this was what defined this island city, quiet evening gondolas rides and sparkling city waters; it seemed almost all too good to be true.

A store window in Venice displaying glass from Murano

Outside of the wooden gondolas wandering up and down the Grand Canal and small alleyways and the mysterious masks that dazzle themselves from almost every one of 450 souvenir shops, Venice still remains spectacularly close with it’s history as the first city to begin glass-making.  The craft dates back all the way to Roman times, and just walking around Venice, the fact becomes clear when you notice the intricate and amazing glass sculptures lining the shop windows, in every color of the rainbow. From shades of midnight blue to bright and cheery pinks, you can find everything from a small pair of earrings to a chandelier the size of a small Christmas tree.  You couldn’t help but to be entaken by the craft itself, and become mesmerized in the talent it took to create each and one of the unique pieces of art.

Though Venice still remains strictly rooted in it’s glass making heritage, in the 13^th century, when the craft took off, its foundries were moved to the island just off of Venice, to the island of Murano, in order to lessen the risk of fire.  With three days on my watch, I decided to venture off to this island city via water taxi and see what the glass making is all about. 

View from the waterbus

I decided to take the water bus first through the Grand Canal, in order to get some great views and even more amazing photographs.  Though it was nothing less than frigid outside, I withstood it as I was so caught up in the beautiful surroundings.  It was only 12 Euro for an all day pass to ride the water bus, and it was an experience in itself.  The people watching itself made it all the more worth it, from the older man coddling his little Schnauzer keeping him the best he could from the cold, to the father and son playing their own little version of red-hands, I not only had the boat ride, but some interesting and pleasant folks to share it with.  There were also some moments on the bus I found myself peeking over at the local newspaper an older gentleman was reading, and it was exciting for me to see how much Italian I could understand and recognize.

Molding a glass horse

From the end of the Grand Canal, Piazza San Marco, we caught a water bus over to the Island of Murano, which only took about 20 minutes.  The small island city was a great feat, and obviously, completely surrounded by water, it had its own feel to it that set it apart from the larger island of Venice.  From the bus I went directly to a glass blowing demonstration, where I got to watch a pair of older men mold, blow, and form some glass that came right out of their 1,500°C oven.  It was truly spectacular to see how easily he could create such intricate objects, from horse complete with a main and flowing tail, to a simple vase with a perfectly curved handle.  He made it look so easy, and it undermined the nearly 20 year apprenticeship they go through in order to earn their place on the step stool, creating some of the most beautiful and unique glass masterpieces in Venice, and perhaps even the world. 

Piazza San Marco with the Basilica and Clock Tower

On the last day of my time in Venice, I decided to wander around Piazza San Marco, actually the only named Piazza in Venice.  The rest of the squares in Venice only earn the name campi, meaning field, because of their smaller size.  Piazza San Marco is the famous Piazza in Venice, and the book I had been reading about the city said to do everything to avoid seeing this on your first day because of the crowds.  Well, luckily, a cloudy and rainy November day didn’t attract too many people, so though there were tourists, there surely wasn’t as many as there would be on a nice summer’s day.  This Piazza is home to the beautiful Basilica di San Marco and the Torre dell'Orologio (clock tower), which both boast their presence through their immediate size.  I enjoyed just meandering around the square, and watching the tourists meander about excitedly taking pictures, feeding clusters of eager pigeons, and chatting with close friends. 

The Doge's Palace

My wanderings eventually led me to the Doge’s Palace, which once hosted the Doge of Venice, the once supreme authority and chief magistrate of the city.  The Doge ruled over Venice for over a thousand years, from the seventh until the eighteenth century.  The palace had a simple elegance to it, and its beautiful white façade set it apart from the surrounding buildings on the square.  Upon entrance you are led straight into the courtyard, where inside sits a large staircase, named the Giant’s Staircase.  On either side stand two colossal statues of Mars and Neptune, representing Venice’s power by land and sea.   It was here that members of the Senate would gather before meetings inside the palace. 

Upon entrance I was led directly inside where I was able to tour the Doge’s apartments and the Institutional chambers.   Both were simply decorated, as most of the furniture was gone, but the beautiful paintings and wallpapers that remained was simply gorgeous and a feat in and of itself.  My visit finished with the Armoury and Prisons, which were definitely my absolute favorite part.  I never had seen such old weapons before, and each piece, from 16^th and 17^th century firearms, to swords, crossbows, quivers, and arrows were magnificently designed and so different than the weapons used today.  Each only looked familiar from old photographs, and they looked entirely like the ones you see in movies dating back to older times.  The ancient armor especially stood out, from metal helmets to metal covers for the horse’s heads, complete with chains and small designs etched into the metal.  

Inside the prison cell, notice the carvings from the prisoners?

Though I was happy with my Palace tour, it wasn’t until I visited the Prisons underground that I got really excited about my visit.  There was literally nobody else there, and I was all alone, wandering around ancient prisons that literally looked like they came out of a movie.  As I meandered, I imagined old prison guards walking around, with gigantic keys clanking against their thighs, and starving prisoners hanging their arms outside of the thick rod iron bars, begging for small scraps of food.  I imagined the sickening stench of urine and dirt, and wondered how in the world people could live in those small concrete cells… consisting of nothing else but, well… concrete.  I could almost hear the moaning of the prisoners echoing off the walls, as I felt the contours of the old rusted over iron latches that gated off sections of the prison.  For a moment I almost thought I could hear a guard come from around the corner, when I quickly snapped back into reality as a camera flashed, and I could hear small chuckles of some fellow tourists.  Though I was happy I wasn’t met with a gigantic prison guard dripping with metal armor and an unhappy grin, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of returning back to the limitations of my 21^st century reality.

Enjoying one of the most beautiful cities :-)

But with no choice in the matter, I simply continued on my tour, which promptly ended after a small souvenir shop.  After exiting the Palace, I spent my last afternoon in Venice simply walking around the town, window shopping and taking in the magnificent views of the water, gondolas, and one of a kind atmosphere of the island city.  I truly hadn’t expected to fall in love with Venice the way I did, but then again, I don’t think it would be possible to ever not to.  Definitely on the top of my list, if you’d ever ask, I’d definitely recommend Venezia, Veneto, the “floating city” well deserving its name by the New York Times as “one of the most beautiful cities built by man.” 

My Adventures in the Enchanting Emerald Isle

Dublin lit up for Christmas

Well, now that I’ve left everybody waiting, I musn’t prolong the delay.  My ventures to the Emerald Isle were not much of what I expected, though I must say, I hadn’t exactly had anything precisely in mind.  My best friend had attached herself so to this country, much to the fact she had grown up there for the best of her elementary years, and had several suggestions of places to go and things to see.  I had appreciated the advice, for obviously, she was a lot more familiar with the country than I, but given the fact I was traveling with two other companions, our travels were unfortunately bound to only what we agreed on.  And aside the fact we booked the hostel solely for Dublin for the four short days we sojourned in the country, we were quite limited in the options before us.  So, I left our travels basically up to chance, and I came to the conclusion that without any plans, adventure would fall upon us, and the lack of an itinerary would have no such inhibition on this grand adventure in this beautiful country.

We arrived in Ireland late on the 29^th of November, and after arriving in the city of Dublin, quite exhausted of our travels, we hoped to find such a venue to relax and discuss possible plans.  But no such place existed, for it was almost 2 in the morning on the following day before we had wandered the streets, looking for such a place.  I cannot say Dublin struck me as a lovely city right away, for the only catching sites I admired were the Christmas lights and the lonely tree that stood aside the bridge crossing the River Liffey.  Aside from the decoration, the city felt cramped, and garbage littered every corner.  There were scavenging birds picking through the piles of trash, and the overall atmosphere felt dry, daunting, and uninviting.  But, as I knew I had arrived at such an awkward time, I knew I musn’t judge the city at first glance beneath such cover of dark.  Tomorrow, in the light of day, I’d have a fresh set of eyes, and a new opinion of the city could be formed with a much more amiable foundation.

View from across River Liffey

Though I’d love to say my opinion had changed over the course of the three days we wandered the city, it simply hadn’t occurred as I’d formerly hoped.  Dublin simply wasn’t attractive to me in the simplest terms, and I didn’t prefer the city atmosphere.  Even with no such expectations, it most likely wouldn’t have conquered the lowest of them if they so existed.  But, I really musn’t be so negative, because apart from the city atmosphere, I grew a liking to other aspects of Dublin (let this in no way be a judgment of Ireland itself), and found aspects of it to be quite enjoyable and honest to the Irish tradition and way of life.

But before I skip to my most favorite part of my stay in Dublin, I must first relate the fact that when Ireland first came to mind before my trip to the country, the only thoughts that came to fruition within me where the most simple and stereotypical things that I had been introduced to in elementary school.  From Leprechauns, rainbows, ever-elusive pots of gold hidden at their base, to scores of smiling and cheerful red heads skipping and dancing through fields of clovers, I probably hadn’t the best preliminary perception of the country.  On more realistic terms, I did admire the country through the accomplishments of Saint Patrick, the patron saint of the country who is believed to have brought Christianity to the people of Ireland. 

Dublin's famous Temple Bar

Luckily though, my friends made it clear to me that the only way I was going to ever catch site of a Leprechaun, stashes of gold, or rainbows, I was going to have to take down one too many bouts of alcohols that I was neither accustomed to or agreed with.  So, to that fact made clear to me, I settled on conversing with the cheerful gingers that I found to be such wonderful company at the several pubs we frequented over the course of our time in Dublin.  This wasn’t difficult though, as we found the pub atmosphere to be quite enjoyable, and we ended up spending every night out, sipping on Dublin’s famous Guinness beer and chatting with the locals.

Next to Dublin’s famous Temple Bar, my favorite had to have been the Old Storehouse, which was an inviting pub full of pep and cheer with bands that came and played for the anticipating crowds of locals and travelers alike.  The musicians were such a highlight for me, as they so simply brought to life the culture and tradition of Ireland that you couldn’t help but fall in love with the simple idea of it all.  I found such a pervasive joy in watching the musicians, each one playing their instrument with such zeal and zest that I couldn’t help but to sing along, tap my feet, and join in with the celebration.

Some fond memories made at The Old Storehouse

But, it was merely just another Friday evening when I was caught in the joy of this celebration, and in spite of the jolly and festive music, there must not be any such presumption of holiday… it was merely a celebration of the simplest things, of Ireland, of life, friends, family, music… of their troubled yet triumphant past that I found to be so strikingly unique and alive as opposed to the other countries I have visited.  Never had I been met with people so happy, so cheerful, so smiley and open to conversation as I had in Ireland, and in spite of the city outside, you could walk into a pub, strike up a conversation with a local, and right away feel like you live right down the block.  It was lovely meeting so many locals, and it really gave me a first hand look into the simple and joyful life each one of them seemed to lead.  It seemed that most groups came in large and strong, and most of them actually had all known eachother since they were in elementary school.  It was lovely knowing that such a proximity and affection still existed in neighborhoods such as these, and I admired the everlasting and encouraging friendships that seemed to bond each one of them together.

Of the five bars we visited, the overall highlight, as I mentioned definitely had to have been the music.  I loved watching one young man in particular dance away with his tin whistle, his cheeks blushing bright red, and beads of sweat escaping from behind his thick and dark whiskered smile. It remains a mystery to me just how he managed to play that small whistle with such luster and passion that the music literally just thickened the air with every note.  The fiddle was no less exhilarating, as it was played with such affection that it could have brought joy to even the faintest of hearts.  As they played Irish classics from Molly Malone to Whiskey in the Jar, I spent most of my nights just taking in the pub atmosphere alongside some of the friendliest Irish folk around. From their adorable Irish accents to their sentences ever so sweetened with “Loves” and charming smiles, the moments just seemed to all melt away.

During one of our days in Dublin, we decided to take part in the free walking tour that was encouraged by our hostel, Saint Isaacs.  Having had such a positive and educational experience with it in Paris, we saw to it as a perfect opportunity to expand our obviously quite limited acquisition and knowledge of the country.  So, On December 2, we followed a long a group of 40 strong around the streets of Dublin.  The group was not at all favorable in size, and thus it led oftentimes to missing out on parts of it, but luckily, I gathered enough information to get a general gist of the places we visited, enough so to share with you and a little bit of the history to each of our wanderings. 

The Dublin Castle, with the Record Tower

Our first stop was the Dublin Castle, which cast a number of roles throughout the course of history, of the most highlighted being it the seat of British rule until 1922. The site was first inhabited by Vikings and was the main military base and trading center in Ireland. It wasn’t though until 1230 under the instruction of a British King that the site became the foundation of a castle complete with walls and ditches for defense of the city from further invasion.  The last surviving tower of its original construction after a fire in 1673, The Record Tower, strikes a fair amount of history as it held the mischievous sons of two prominent families of the time, the O’Neill’s and the O’Donnell’s.  In the 1500s the two families had been at war with eachother for in-extractible reasons.   This had left the country divided and without a central authority for 200 years following Ireland’s unfinished Norman Conquest.  Though an issue arose when two sons of the families, Red Hugh O’Donnell and Henry O’Neill, became friends and united the families.  This worried Elisabeth I, as the English were currently trying extend their authority over the land.  So she concocted a plan to capture O’Donnell and O’Neill and so a ship was sent to capture them.  They were bribed with alcohol and a time later, they found themselves locked in The Record Tower until their unlikely escape through a toilet chute in 1592. 

The Courtyard of the Dublin Castle

Also a part of the Dublin Castle is the Chapel Royal, built in 1814, which hosts the most magnificent interior gothic infrastructures in Ireland. The courtyard of the castle was definitely gorgeous in and of itself too, which today serves as a landing pad for helicopters.  From there we visited the grounds of Jonathan Swift’s original home in Dublin, which is no longer standing.  Instead hung a plaque in his honor, naming his accomplishment as Dean of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin.  It was magnificent to learn of his roots here in Ireland, as he is one of the most remembered satirist and essayists of his time, completing such works such as Gulliver’s Travels, and A Modest Proposal. The essay, A Modest Proposal definitely wrung through my memory from my high school English studies.  The piece was written in 1729, and was a satire venting his disgust at the country’s lamentable condition.  In his writing, he offers a solution to Ireland’s poverty, suggesting that that a young healthy child, well nursed, is at a year old, a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food…” 

Christ Church in Dublin

From the place of Swift’s birth we made our way to Christ Church, the oldest Cathedral in Dublin, built in 1014 by the Vikings.  From there we visited the Projects Art Center, which launched the 1980s band, U2, into becoming one of the most famous internationally known bands.  The street led us right to ½ Penny Bridge, which earned its name because it once costed travelers ½ a penny to cross.  The bridge was actually built by the same company that constructed the Titanic, so I wasn’t all too sure on how much its strength should have been trusted.  O’Connell Street was our next destination, the main Street in Dublin, which was reconstructed after Ireland’s Independence in 1922.   In the center stands the O’Connell monument, dedicated to the nationalist leader, Daniel O’Connell.

Though meandering and exploring the city streets lent us quite the adventure, we knew there had to be more to Ireland than the city.  After all, the rolling green hills and fields of clovers had to come from somewhere.  So my friends and I promptly signed up for a tour traversing the Connemara National Park, well known for its mountain range, The Twelve Bens, and its unique terrain, made up of bog, grass, and woodlands.  We undertook this adventure on our last day in Ireland, and caught the bus early in the morning for our tour that would last us for the entire day. 

In the lovely hillsides of the Connemara

Unfortunately, the weather that Sunday hadn’t cleared up for us fellow travelers, and decidedly fit right into the usual weather of Ireland’s climate which consisted of some rain, some clouds, rain… and some more rain.  So, we shouldn’t have been in for a surprise, but I suppose to our luck… and not so much our luck, the tour did consist of sightseeing mostly from the cover of our bus coach.  So while we were somewhat warm inside the bus, and safe from the rain, unfortunately we were not able to see out the window for the good part of our tour.  But luckily, it didn’t stop us from enjoying the several stops we made along the way, which consisted of a Friary, a Castle, and Galway City itself. 

Our first stop, the Ross Errily Friary, was a medieval Franciscan Friary left in ruins.  A Friary is different from an Abbey in that a Friary can also be open to the public for worship as apposed to an Abbey which is place reserved solely the worship and living purposes of monks or nuns. Though obviously not kept in superb condition, provided its age, it still is the best preserved of its kind.  The friary was complete with a labyrinth of old mossy cobbled walls, fit with small peep holes, differently shaped doors and passageways, and an assortment of rooms in all different sizes.  In addition, it consisted of burial grounds dating back to medieval times, hidden staircases, an oven, and a water tank that was once used to hold live fish.  We had about a half an hour to explore the ruins, which we spent meandering along long walkways lined with perfectly symmetrical medieval windows, all pocketed with moss and shabby green growth crawling out from every corner.  The backdrop of the ruins though was most spectacular, with the rolling green hills escaping into the fogged down bog lands of the landscape.  The air was thick with moisture, and I could almost feel the mystery of the place pierce through my veins just looking out onto the horizon, trying to extrapolate the years that stood between me and the old cobblestone ruins sleeping behind me. 

Between county borders in Cong between Galway & Mayo

After loading up onto the bus once again, our next stop was the Village of Cong.  Cong was a quaint and quiet little town; nestled up in the tireless hills of Ireland, sitting on an island formed by an assortment of small streams.  It is most well known for being home to the famous Ashford Castle, one of Ireland’s finest hotels.  Our bus driver told us that if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it.  But I looked it up, and it appears that the cheapest room for one adult is 88 Euro, unless I am mistaken.  I am including the link to their site, just to see the extensive beauty of it, http://www.ashford.ie/.  Unfortunately, it is not at all accessible to the public, and it is nearly invisible from outside of the walls.  But now that I know the price, a visit to this magnificent castle doesn’t seem too out of the realm of possibility any longer.  I think by the time I finish this blog post, I will have completely fallen in love with this country and need to return.  I’m realizing just how much of Ireland I didn’t see, and the magic that lies hidden outside the contours of city walls. 

A picturesque view of Kylemore Abbey, Connemara

After passing by the boundaries of Ashford Castle and exploring the city of Cong for awhile, we got back on board to make it to our final destination: Kylemore Abbey and Gardens.  Kylemore Abbey, or originally, Kylemore Castle, was originally built for young Margaret Vaughan, as a gift from her husband, Mitchell Henry.  They had both fallen in love with the area during their honeymoon in 1850, that it became Margaret’s dream to return to the Connemara and live there.  Though the family enjoyed a quaint and quiet lifestyle at the castle, after Margaret and her husband traveled to Egypt in 1874, Margaret fell ill with dysentery and died 16 days after at the age of 45.   The beautiful Neo-Gothic church that sits just a 5-minute walk down the road from the castle was built by Mitchell as a memorial chapel for his wife. 

The Gothic Church, Connemara

After some financial difficulty, the castle and its property changed hands twice more, with its final purchase by the Benedictine Community in 1920, with the help of public loans.  The Irish Benedictine Nuns were refugees from Ypres, Flanders and had fled from their monastery in 1914 during the World War 1 when the German army bombarded their city.  Since their stay, the nuns have made important contributions to this historical emblem, from opening an international boarding school, to renovating the Victorian Walled Garden and Gothic Church.  The boarding school has attracted the daughters of Irish nobility and some of the most famous students include American actress Angelica Huston and Indian Princesses, daughters of Maharaja Ranjit.  Because of changing times and increasing costs of running the school and its maintenance, the school was closed, and the last exams at Kylemore Abbey were given in June of 2010. 

The castle and its surroundings were so picturesque, and just walking around, you would have thought to have been gracing the pages of a childhood fairytale.  The winding paths were carved through perfectly green hillsides, dotted with trees touched by the coming of fall.  The castle stood right at the base of a beautiful lake, with ancient trees at its basin, their silhouettes shadowing the murky blue waters.  It was difficult to not fall in love with the beautiful atmosphere, so magical, and so seemingly unreal, you literally had to pause for a moment to take it all in.  I could have wandered the castle and its surrounding trails for hours, but unfortunately, the two hours cut us short, and we had to return to Dublin.

A bend in the road... where will my travels take me next?

Though my adventures in Ireland ended much sooner than I would have liked, as do most of my trips throughout Europe, I enjoyed every moment immensely, and appreciated every small joy that came upon me. Wholly unplanned, this trip was definitely met with adventure, and I couldn’t by the end of the four short days help but to fall in love with this country cradled with such a strong sense of magic and mystery.  From the bog lands of the Connemara to the pubs that came alive with melodic tunes of tin whistles and fiddles, Ireland earned a name for itself far greater than I had ever expected. 

A Preliminary Goodbye

Greetings to my blog followers, friends, readership, the occasional set of eyes that accidentally popped open this page by no other reason than pure accident,

I bet you would all love to see pictures of Ireland, and perhaps the stories I have to tell, and know about all the wonderful leprechauns I caught, the gold I found, and the redheads I…

Well, we can save that for later…  ;-) just kidding…

Anyways,

I’ve been coming back to my computer over and over again attempting to write about my experience in Ireland, but nothing to my satisfaction was ever scribbled upon these stubborn white pages.

So here I am, in my cold unheated bedroom, etching up not my final goodbye, but a soon to be farewell to all my fellow readers.  I guess if you are wondering why I am biding goodbye to, I must relate to you that I am to return home within the next week and a half.  I am to cross over the Atlantic Ocean by plane, on the cold and blustery evening of December 21^st.  And really, the fact of this didn’t really hit me until a few days ago.  I was staring at my calendar, and realizing I still had yet to visit a few places in Viterbo, I went in panic mode etching in little side trips in all my empty days.

But really, as much as I can say traveling has been the mere highlight of everything, there has been so much more to it than the surface level. 

Coming into this, I didn’t really know what to expect.  It was such a big change that I just kind of went with the flow of things, not really having anything in mind of what my life would be like here.  Well, I knew it would include bouts of pizza, lots of pasta, and the occasional gelato, but I didn’t really know what else my life here would entail.  I was excited yet nervous about the language aspect and I was very excited to get to know Italy on a more personal level by staying with a host family.  Also, having signed up for 15 credits, I expected lots of studying, occasional nights out, and I was crossing my fingers to perhaps travel beyond the borders of Italy.

And looking back now, these were all reasonable expectations.  They were all concrete manifestation of life: food, people, the changing of seasons, and the occasional trip outside the country.  They were things I could count, take pictures of, and remember in concrete form forever.

But… all that I’ve taken from my experience here can’t exclusively fit within the boundaries of a photo frame, within the consoles of my cuisine cookbook, or the small souvenir pennies I pocket from each country I visit.  Most of what I’ve taken is sleeping within the pages of my journal, every word, every feeling, and every moment, a pulsation of life that has changed me and altered me into the person that I am today.  It’s hard to put into words how living abroad releases yourself from a certain singularity, a certain perspective lacking so many aspects of peripheral vision.  I feel like I’ve truly come to know an entirely new way of life, new way of being, and new way of seeing the world.  Since peering through my bedroom window by night within the contours of Boise, Idaho, admiring the sauntering mountains wandering away into the distant horizon, I have grown and changed so much, and alas, taken one more step forward becoming the best version of myself, and reaching my goals and tackling challenges that I hadn’t even realized existed.

I really can’t say just how much I have fallen in love with Italy.  I truly hadn’t realized how starkly different the culture was not only from America, but from the rest of Europe, until I visited Austria, France, and Ireland.  I was almost in shock, realizing how much I’ve had to adjust and how truly different the culture is here.  From the language, to the people, to the dress… the concept of time, the way of life… everything has been so outside of my realm of experience and knowledge.  But there is no better way to get to know a people and culture than to just pack up your backs and move in right alongside them.  From meeting Italian friends to tutoring a group of chatty fourth grade girls to teaching at the local high school, I’ve definitely done a lot in order to really understand and come to know this life here beyond the confines of a normal vacation or weekend getaway.

Though I’ve learned a lot, there are probably mountains and mountains of stories, information, and experiences that I will have never yet to have experienced.  I humble myself to the four months I’ve been here, though I’ve appreciated and cherished every moment.  This culture that once seemed so distant has become so alive and now is sewn into my memories and experiences that I’ll cherish forever.  Even from the cold confines of my small bedroom in Piazza della Morte, my frozen snowballed cheeks are still etching up a smile, reminiscing of all the sweet moments that will now be a part of the person I am as I continue on in this great journey we call life.   

And as for my lovely weekend adventure to the Emerald Isle, I will get this up as soon as I can find the moment of day when all my roommates agree to turn the heater on.  For, of this moment, as of 20 minutes ago, it was turned off, and my fingers are now becoming numb as each one wanders about these keys, and no longer am I provided with such luster and inspiration of thought.  Anyhow, I hope you have enjoyed my somewhat premature goodbyes, and check back soon to read about my wonderful adventures in Ireland.

Falling in Love with La Ville-Lumière; Paris, France

The beautiful Fall colors in France in the Tuileries

My friend Jessica and I left for Paris in the afternoon of November 16^th.  We had no idea what to expect- which is probably a good thing, because that’s what traveling is all about, a little bit of spice and dash of spontaneity.  And we definitely got all of that and more in our three days in this city famously known as the “city of lights, or in the country’s native tongue, "La Ville-Lumière."

Paris originally gets its name as the city of lights because it was the birthplace of the Age of Enlightenment and was revered as one of the greatest centers of education and ideas.  Though the fact the city was the first in Europe to adopt street lighting may have contributed to the factor, its name was born upon the success of some of its greatest thinkers and philosophers such as Voltaire and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. So, by the book the quote takes on a more figurative translation, though I personally enjoyed seeing Paris as “the city of lights” for its more illuminescent qualities.  From the sparkling Eiffel Tower that stood proudly against the night sky to the carousels scattered at every corner lazily lighting up children’s parks and tourist destinations, Paris definitely dazzled its way right into my heart.

Living up to its name,  La Ville de l'amour

Outside of Paris being simply La Ville-Lumière, Paris has also been quite popularly noted as La Ville de l'amour, or as you might have already guessed, the city of love.  And once you visit the city, you really need no explanation why if you just take a look around.  Even getting onto the plane Jessica and I noticed several honeymoon couples.  Either hand in hand, a head resting on a shoulder, or a quiet smile acknowledging the window of shared experiences, Paris earned its nickname for me right away.  And once arriving in the city of love, my blurred understanding of the name became crystal clear, as the atmospheric existence almost seemed to beckon romance. From lovers on picnic benches melting in eachothers arms to a passionate midnight kiss at the base of the glistening Eiffel Tower, its impossible to not be intrigued by the romance waiting at every street corner.

And if you need more reasons to call Paris La Ville de l'amour, bring somebody special for yourself so you can understand first hand just exactly what they mean. From the three kisses it takes two lovers as they throw the key into the Seine River from the padlock that they just securely latched on the bridge of the Pont des Arts to the Bateaux-Mouches gently glistening against the softly curving Seine River, there is not a moment you would be able to escape without experiencing some sort of blissful romance. And one more thing… let us not forget French, accurately known as the language of love, definitely sounds sweet, especially against the lips of a young man who you strike up conversation with at the base of the Eiffel tower.  But that’s another story, so we can save that for another time.

A little girl finds joy in the simple things in life, like giant bubbles

But outside of this, you have to make sure to also pay attention to all the other little things.  From the smiles to the eager existence of the locals hoping to strike up conversation, to the calming patience of the metro riders, to the lingering mystery in the cold evening air, it was a collage of small instances that defined my overall experience.  Just walking down the street, and noticing the symmetry everywhere was spectacular in and of itself.  The precision and the perfection noted from the perfectly straight alignment of trees of the Tuilerie Gardens to the eight streets perfectly leading out from the Arc de Triomphe, everywhere I felt like I was wandering a labyrinth that had been perfectly designed and planned out. 

A Bateaux-Mouches passes by the Cathedral of Notre Dame

But let us not forget that the design of the city didn’t happen by accident, it was a complete reflection of the monarchy that ruled over France since the 16^th century.  In the 3-hour walking tour that Jessica and I took around Paris during our first day, I really got a true sense of the history that built this amazing city, and the stories behind each and every monument that we passed by.  From the Arc de Triomphe, commissioned by the Emperor Napoleon to honor the victims of the Napoleonic wars to the 3,300 year old Egyptian Obelisk brought by Napoleon in the year of 1860 in the hope to put France at ease after the troubled Revolution era, I really was able to get to know the city on an entirely new level.   The highlights of the tour though was definitely Cathedral of Notre Dame, the best example of Gothic Architecture that took 200 years to build and the snippets of history our guide shared about King Henry IV. King Henry IV was probably the most hated of the rulers of France, most likely because he was trying to rule with a Protestant crown where 80 percent of the population was Catholic.  He was hated so much, there were 27 attempts to kill him, and with only the last one only being successful.  After he was stabbed in the stomach by a fanatical Catholic, François Ravaillac, the last words he muttered were, “Is that all you can do?” which prompted Ravaillac to stab the king in the heart, promptly ending his life.

The Pont des Arts leading up to the French Institute

We also passed by a number of the 150 museums that reside in the city, each of them built with beautiful architecture and design.  L’Institut de France, or, the French Institute, was one place though that especially stood out to me.  In the institute there are five academies, the oldest being the French academy consisting of 40 members known as immortals, each of whom stake their place in the institute until the can be replaced only after their death (hence the name, immortals).  It is these people that protect the French language, and are charged with the weight of producing the language’s official dictionary.  Whenever a new English word is pronounced, the congregation carefully chooses a French synonym or; for a word such as iPod, they choose whether it shall be masculine or feminine.  I thought it was interesting when they tried to come up with a word for “weekend” in French because there were no French synonyms.  So they came up with the word “vacancielle,” though none of the French adopted the word and simply continued to just use the word “weekend”. 

Love padlocks covering every inch of the Pont des Arts

And as I said earlier, we passed over the Pont des Arts, which is covered in an extreme amount of “love padlocks”.  The tradition is to latch the lock on the bridge kiss three times, then throw the key into the Seine river, sealing the couple’s everlasting love.  The tradition became hugely popular after the locations debut in final episode of Sex and the City.  What I found most entertaining though was the combination locks that I found sporadically latched onto parts of the bridge.  The idea just didn’t completely make sense if there was not key to throw in the river … I could just imagine someone returning in rage or sorrow undoing the lock and throwing that instead of a key into the river. 

Inside the Louvre, beneath one of the 5 pyramids

During our tour, we also passed by the Louvre, which was originally part of a fortress wall that protected the city from invasions.  King Louis XIV actually lived there, until he moved to Versailles a short time later.  It is home a mixture of architecture and 35,000 pieces of art.  In the courtyard of the Louvre there are 5 pyramids, with the 5^th one being underground which is at the center of the underground shopping mall just west of the Louvre.  I honestly didn’t realize how utterly gigantic the Louvre was until Jessica and I wandered the museum/gallery for a few hours the day before we left.  There are 4 flours in total, and you can literally get lost trying to find your place from one area to another.  It was definitely put together beautifully though, with each section dedicated to a certain culture or a part of history.  My favorite was definitely the Napoleon Apartments, which were elaborately adorned with the decorations, and furniture that defined the livelihood of Napoleon Bonaparte’s lavish life while he lived there for several years. 

The decadence of the Dining Room in Napoleon's Apartments

During our free time Jessica and I had fun exploring the city and taking the maze of metros that basically curved and etched their way throughout the entire city.  Though they were pretty easy to figure out, I wasn’t the best navigator so I definitely kept my collection of maps near me at all times.  We discovered the Christmas markets that they set up along the Champs-Elysées, so we perused through them snacking on warm Nutella crepes and the occasional perfectly crisp croissant (yes, French croissants do deserve their fame).  Though I wanted to try frog legs and the famous French Onion Soup, we ran out of evening meals to spare for such suppers.  But one day I got to try the famous bread with the melted cheese and egg on top made complete with spinach on the side.  It was quite delicious, though I much preferred the sweets that I tried over the course of our three days.  Like I said, the crescents were indeed delicious, so much so that sense then I haven’t had the appetite to snack on another one back here in Italy.   

The Eiffel Tower standing proud

With one of our free afternoons we decided to stake out and look for the Eiffel tower, which proved almost to be slightly difficult until we saw it proudly peaking behind the thick curtain of fog that loomed in the city that afternoon.  So without really looking at our map, we just walked and walked until there we were, right at the base of the Eiffel Tower.  And oh man, there was just no words to describe the height and size of that magnificent structure.  I honestly hadn’t realized how gigantic it truly was, not only height, but also the width of each of the legs that held it up, which hosted mazes of stairs, elevators, and even restaurants.  Though we really wanted to climb it, the stairs closed when we arrived, and the view wouldn’t have been great with the thick layer of fog.

The tower was truly magical how it lit up the night sky the way it did, and about every hour the entire thing would literally glitter, with the 20,000 light bulbs sporadically being turned on an off.  Actually, during one of the instances it occurred, I was standing at the base, just admiring how it lit up the night sky, until suddenly, at once, the entire tower began to sparkle.  And in that moment, the entire crowd softly gasped in awe, just smiling in amazement at the magic of the whole experience.  I couldn’t help but to be filled with such a warmth and happiness in that moment, just taking in all the sights and sounds of that cold November evening.  From the tower to the twinkling eyes of the passersby, the smell of warm crepes and children bundled in mittens and fur, everything about that evening was priceless. 

In Versailles, with the Grand Canal behind me

Though Jessica and I only were able to stay in Paris for a period of 3 short days, I was determined to go the Versailles, because I just couldn’t imagine anything better than being able to see with my very own eyes one of the most beautiful palaces and gardens in the entire world.  So on Sunday, I went with the same tour group, Sandeman, and caught a train with the group to Versailles.  It only took about a half hour to get there, but the trip lasted all day, though I enjoyed every moment.  Our tour guide took us around the gardens, where she explained to us the history of Versailles, from its first mentioning in the 1600s as the “land of the marshes” to the end King Louis the XVI reign when Versailles was turned over to the Radical Revolutionaries.

Versailles was originally founded by Louis XIII who used the grounds mostly for hunting purposes.  It wasn’t until the reign of Louis XIV though that Versailles was expanded and became what it is today.  And the funny thing is, Louis the XIV in the beginning didn’t even particularly like Versailles, but after realizing his financial minister had an amazing garden, the Vaux-le-Vicomte, he couldn’t stand the thought of his Financial Minster outdoing him in such a way.  So he recruited the same design team of the Vaux-le-Vicomte and ordered a garden 100 times the size.  From there it expanded into one of the most grand and beautiful gardens in all of the world, and still today it stands exceptionally apart as a perfect example of a French garden. 

Admiring the symmetry in one of the the courtyard of Versailles

Throughout our tour, our guide told us the history of Louis XIV, who ruled for the longest time in the history of European monarchy, for a total of 72 years.  The garden literally came to life through the stories of his reign to the symbolism behind each fountain we passed.  The garden was a direct reflection of his rule and accurately illustrated the idea of his complete control over even nature itself.  In fact, the king would have samples of trees taken to him, which would help him decide whether or not he wanted that specific specie of tree in his garden.  But he didn’t want just any tree, he actually had the man go dig out the exact tree he clipped the sample from and bring it to Versailles where he would have it replanted.  In all there are 2500 tree species and is today known as the perfect epitome of a French garden… (for if things were to go out of order, it could be none other than that of an English garden)… 

Wishing for an eternity to get lost in the gardens of Versailles

The garden really was simply amazing because it was just so gigantic.  When we first entered through the palace gates, we got a view of the garden, which literally expanded as far as my eyes could reach.  Leading down from the steps was the Grand Canal.  The colors of the trees were literally breathtaking, from hues of burnt orange to lime and emerald greens.  Along the pathways there are literally labyrinths of trees and hidden pathways where you can wander or stroll through and take in all the scents and beauty of this one of a kind garden.  Though a day seems like a lot of time, it literally flew by in Versailles, and before I knew it, it was already getting dark.  The garden though was so lovely and I definitely could imagine myself coming back and enjoying it perhaps in the summertime when they have fountain shows and the colors are most alive and vibrant.  Of course, the sun shining wouldn’t be too bad of a thing to add to the mix either. 

The Queen's bedroom in the Palace

But I took it for what it was, and I decided to peruse the palace before they closed and before I had to catch the train back to Paris.  I met a girl from Australia during the garden tour so we decided to check out the palace together (Did I mention she actually got to see Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter when she was little… who just so happened to be my biggest idol all through elementary school?! …  Just wanted to throw that out there).  The palace was quite wonderful, though we only got to see a few rooms because they closed it only about a ½ hour after we arrived.  The highlights though were the King’s bedroom and the Queen’s bedroom and the gold that seemed to literally cover everything from the small alarm clock to the draperies.  I couldn’t imagine trying to fall asleep in a room so lavish it literally screamed royalty.  It was sad to realize though what kind of life these people were living while 98 percent of the population was poor and miserable with their children starving to death.  But obviously, these are instances of the past and what is left now simply stands as a truly enlightening and invariably interesting emblem of the past.

Paris earned its name <3

Obviously, my experience in Paris and Versailles was quite magical to say the least, and the city literally just drew me in such a way, I had completely unexpected it.  I thought that three days would be a decent amount of time to see the sights and experience Parisian culture, but I didn’t realize how much I had been wrong.  From the Louvre to the innumerable amount of museums down every street, to the shopping, and the culture that exists everywhere within reach, its just a place I feel you’d never feel like your ready to leave.  But unfortunately, all good stories come to an end (… or do they?)… so I had to pack up my bags and Tuesday morning Jessica and I bid our hostel goodbye early in the morning to catch a plane back to Rome.  It was a difficult goodbye, but there is a part of me that almost knows I will some day have to return to this beautiful city, which definitely earned its name as the city of lights and most definitely, the city of love.